The Lies I Told(76)

“I canceled on her at the last minute. Brit wasn’t in a rush to get home, and she wanted to take me shopping.”

Clare had been annoyed and hurt when we’d spoken about Marisa’s last-minute change of plans. “I remember.”

“Did she meet anyone at the show?” Marisa asked.

“I don’t know. She and I weren’t as close around that time. You both had grown distant.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” Marisa said. “We were feeling good for the first time in a long time and were just thrilled to be getting out. We didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

“We were all quite the trio.”

“Yes, we were,” Marisa said. “I don’t know how we’d have gotten through the sickest days without you.”

We’d been the Three Musketeers. All for one. My hand slid into my bag, and my fingers ran over the camera’s smooth finish. Telling Marisa about the camera might blow back on me, but I’d be finished with all the secrets. And I had Jack now. He would protect me.

Marisa watched as I removed the small pink camera from my purse. Her eyes softened as recognition flared. “That was Clare’s. I looked everywhere for it.”

“That last time I saw her, she was wearing that blue coat. She forgot to take it. I didn’t bother to return it because I thought I’d see her again. And when I heard she was dead, I wore it to be close to her. The camera was in the pocket.”

“You never told Richards about it,” Marisa said.

“I didn’t.”

She ran her fingertips over the smooth casing covered in small flower stickers. “The police went through all my cameras.”

“When everyone started demonizing my parents, I didn’t want more cops breathing down my neck or another reporter crawling farther up my ass.” I sighed.

Marisa pressed the silver power button, but the camera didn’t turn on. “How long has the battery been dead?”

“At least a decade. I never bothered to replace the batteries.”

“I can get batteries at the drugstore or a photo shop.”

“She carried this everywhere. Always snapping pictures when no one was looking.”

“Did you ever look at the pictures?”

“I did years ago. But I didn’t recognize anyone. Whatever faces I’d seen have long been blurred by time.”

Marisa traced a faded daisy sticker. “I don’t know what I’m looking for, but just having this piece of Clare means a lot.”

“I hope you see a face you recognize.” I smiled. “Now go to your meeting.”





44


MARISA

Saturday, March 19, 2022

8:00 p.m.

I had kept my promise to Jo-Jo and attended my AA meeting. I sat in the circle, quiet, sipping my coffee, wanting the meeting to pass without me saying anything. I was really more concerned about scoring batteries for Clare’s camera than sharing feelings. But I couldn’t afford another screwup, and if this show-and-tell helped, then so be it.

The group leader, Mark, quickly zeroed in on me. He’d read a version of my story so many times, the pages were tattered and torn. He’d been waiting for an opening to say my name.

“Marisa, I sense you’d like to share,” Mark said.

I dug from my pocket the one-year chip that he’d placed in my hand last month. I cleared my throat. “I had a bad night. Drank three bottles of wine.”

I forced myself to look around the room and meet the gazes of everyone. Refusing to cower, I saw some disappointment, sadness, but mostly understanding.

“Was there a trigger?” Mark asked.

“Family stuff,” I said. “I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.”

“And the next time?”

I couldn’t promise there wasn’t going to be another Brit land mine. “I’ll call my sponsor.”

“I thought you didn’t have one,” Mark said.

He was right. I’d refused the help. “I’ll get one.”

Mark nodded. “Keep the chip. We’ll celebrate next year with it.”

“I’d rather you take it. I’m starting over, and next year I’ll want a new one. Eyes forward, right?” I intentionally used one of Brit’s bullshit sayings to remind myself that she could set all the traps she wanted, but I could maneuver around them.

I laid the chip in Mark’s palm. Releasing this stupid piece of plastic was sad, but with it went the guilt weighing me down since this morning.

“Keep up the good work,” he said.

“Good work?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Right. I’m here and still standing.”

When I stepped out of the meeting room, Mark followed. “I’m proud of you.”

“Mine is an old story.”

“But no less poignant.” He handed me a folded slip of paper with a phone number on it. “I know you don’t want a sponsor, but you should have backup. If you have a bad patch, call me, okay? Friend to friend.”

I creased the paper with my fingers and then hugged him. “Sure. Fair enough.”

Walking down the church’s concrete stairs, I looked up at the night sky. Clear, it was made bright by stars and a full moon. Tonight was no different from last night or the night before. I still remained a drink away from oblivion, which likely explained the uneasiness churning in my belly.